The Tails of Two Mice

Once upon a time we had a puddycat to manage rodent control here on the farm. Known by several names--Sydney, Puddycat, Sissibelle, RastaKitty--she soon slipped off her CEO of Rodent Management hat in favor of a paw-loose, fancy-free lifestyle. Rail as I might against her adjusted mission, I could not convince her to take up residence in the barn. By the time she disappeared--on an evening when the coyotes were particularly active--the dynasty of barn rodents was fully established. Next I turned to the strays that feed on a neighbor's porch without success. Finally I invested a few dollars in three good-old-fashioned snapping mousetraps in newfangled plastic enclosures.

Success came quickly. Within two days we had captured 21 dead mice and one live mouse (who died running from that trap into the one we set facing its entrance). Sometimes the traps would snap without catching any mice, and scavengers could enjoy the peanut butter bait without breaking their necks. On the second evening, I found myself rebaiting and resetting traps frequently--probably every 15 minutes. Claiming that the mice were lining up for a turn in the trap, I turned in for the night with a flush of triumph. I was particularly pleased with the occasion when I found two mice together in one trap, quite dead.

The next day activity was slower, and I stopped hovering. When I did check, sometimes I found sprung traps empty of rodents and bait. Sometimes a trap would have yet to be sprung, or would have sprung and caught a mouse. Always I could hear the rodents rustling around in the hay which made me all the more eager to catch them.

Last night ended with another flush of success: one trap found with two lifeless tails hanging out its entrance. The spoonful of peanut butter bait that I stored in the barn is dwindling now. By tomorrow it will likely need to be refreshed.

Sorry Puddycat. You've been replaced, and quite effectively.